


Flatshare

by Marmosette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blue bed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg gave Mycroft a key to his flat. And there are consequences to something like that. I mean, he might use it, or something. And then you have a Mycroft in your flat. What can you do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flatshare

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Asleep](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/6927) by Macpye. 



On the nights when Greg Lestrade managed to get to bed before midnight, he usually had no trouble falling asleep. Or staying asleep. So when he opened his eyes to a dark bedroom, and saw the face of his clock read 3:28, and remembered it was Sunday, he rolled onto his back and said, _“Fuck.”_

It didn’t help. He rolled onto his other side for a while, dozed a bit, woke again, and sat up. This was all Mycroft Holmes’s fault.

He’d only spent the night at Greg’s place a few times. The first time had been unplanned, and they’d been awake the entire time. The next time, Greg made sure he’d gotten plenty of sleep the night before, and had the next day off. They’d still spent most of it in bed, but it was far more relaxed, and some of the time they had actually dozed. The third time, he had given Mycroft a key, which had surprised him, and made him sit down suddenly on the foot of the bed. This had surprised Greg, as he’d given Mycroft the key while they were still in the hall outside his front door.

“Here, you might as well have this now,” he’d said, slapping the key into Mycroft’s hand before jamming his own into the lock. “It sticks a bit in the winter.” He shouldered the door open and stood aside for Mycroft to pass him. “That way you don’t have to wait in the cold.”

“I think my timing is better than that,” Mycroft had said lightly, leaning his umbrella against the wall and removing his coat.

“But it’s not so much the quality of your timing as the quantity of your information, is it?” Greg had teased, hanging their coats on the hooks on the back of his door. “I’m sure I could pull the same kind of trick, if I had minions to send after you and let me know when you left the office.”

Mycroft smiled quietly. “If you knew where I was going. And where my office was. And you do have, as you put it, ‘minions.’”

Greg studied him, knowing this was yet another of Mycroft’s delicate prompts of information. He gave Greg far more credit than Sherlock ever did, but he still was never quite sure of how much Greg might already know. He preferred to hint at questions Greg should ask, rather than lecture him with the answers. “I’m not going to have you followed, Mycroft,” he said, taking the most serious issue first. “I’m not in the habit of investigating people I date. And no, that is not just because I’ve been off the market for a while,” he said quickly. “There’s a line between me and the job, and I intend to keep it there, thank you. Besides, I’m not having Donovan go haring after you and finding out you’re Sherlock’s brother. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, but understood. He’d overheard some of the pair’s arguments outside crime scenes. “Kind of you.”

“Not really.”

“You know I can’t extend you the same courtesy.”

Greg shrugged. “Yeah, I know. But you’ve got reasons. It goes with the job.”

Mycroft looked down. “I’m afraid so. At least I can assure you that you need never doubt my discretion.”

“Ohh, I’m aware of that,” Greg said, widening his eyes with a tip of his head. “And the fact that neither of us has had to arrest Sherlock is a minor miracle. At least... I assume he doesn’t know...? About us?” 

“Oh good heavens, no!” Mycroft said quickly, with such a look of alarm and disgust that Greg snorted, grinning. “I hope you can’t imagine how unbelievably childish he would be.”

“Would he? I mean, I know he can be childish, but...”

“No, no, not like that,” Mycroft said, waving it away with a quick flick of his fingers. “He’s no prude, thank heaven. No, he would just be tremendously...personal. Offensively so. To both of us. Depending on his mood, his current sobriety, level of boredom.” He waved his fingers again, _and so on._ “You’ve seen him.”

“I think I’ll just take your word for it, if you don’t mind.”

“Best you do.”

Greg shifted from foot to foot, suddenly aware of how long they’d been standing in his front hall. It was probably the longest they’d ever been in his flat without landing on the bed. “So, um.” He cleared his throat, glancing around. “I mean, I know you’ve been here before and all, but I’ve never exactly given you the tour.”

“I’d be honoured,” Mycroft said, straightening with a slight nod.

Greg found himself staring at the man’s neck, and had to jerk his eyes away. “Yeah, right. Kitchen, toilet, living room,” he said, pointing at the doors around them. “That’s sort of an office, so I keep it locked. Yard stuff, Met rules.” He shrugged, then scratched his chin, and sighed. “That’s pretty much it.”

Mycroft’s mouth twitched. “Charming.”

Greg laughed at the ridiculousness of it. “Well, anyway, it’s not like I could stop you going through every last file in the office, let alone the drawer in the bathroom. It’s a bit late for that.”

Mycroft frowned slightly. “Of course you understand I’ll do nothing of the sort,” he said, his voice oddly tentative, as though feeling his way.

“No, really, I get it,” Greg said, reaching for his hand. “It’s okay. I mean, I understand need-to-know. And there are some things that I don’t want to know about. But, well, the rest of the flat, go for it. I wouldn’t have given you a key otherwise.” Greg moved past him, pulling him toward the bedroom.

“You’re... oh.” Mycroft followed him, seemingly unaware of it. “You’ve...given me a key.”

That was when Mycroft had sat down heavily. 

Now, Greg leaned back on one arm, rubbing his face with one hand, scratching through his hair. He did not want to be thinking about Mycroft, in his bed, at three in the morning. Four. He hadn’t had wet dreams for years, until Mycroft had arrived in his life. Waking up with an erection was hardly the worst thing, and he knew none of these thoughts were going to make it any easier for him to get back to sleep. He yawned, swung his legs off the bed, and got up. He took the thick, plush black robe off the back of his bedroom door and wrapped it around himself. Not likely anyone would be staring out their windows at this time of the morning, but the chair in the kitchen would be cold, and the robe was easier than pyjamas. And warmer.

Greg slapped the kitchen light on blindly, his other hand still rubbing sleep from his eyes, shading them from the sudden harsh brightness of the fluorescents. He held the kettle under the tap for a token splash of fresh water before rattling it back onto the stand and switching it on. He leaned on the counter and sighed. Tea. Not coffee. Coffee would commit him to waking up. Tea, and something dull to read. He turned around, shuffling toward the living room. Not a case file. Just any old book. Something that wasn’t about...

“Mycroft.”

The man’s head snapped up, and from the way he blinked, Greg realized he hadn’t just been sitting and reading by the tiny pocket light clipped to the folder on his lap. He must have dozed off, sitting neatly on the end of Greg’s sofa, his legs crossed, one elbow resting on the arm of the sofa, his cheek against it. 

“Oh, Greg, I’m so sorry.” Mycroft took a deep breath, then smiled wanly up at him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“I’m not sure you did,” Greg said a little numbly, and shook his head. No, really. Mycroft Holmes, in his living room in the middle of the night, as calmly as if he were at the office, or in the back of his car. Greg’s erection gave a lively bob, and he clutched his robe, tightening the belt, hoping it hadn’t been obvious. “When did you get here? I thought you were out of the country.”

“I was.” He reached down and pulled out his pocketwatch, flipping it open. “Landed two hours ago.”

“Then... you came straight here,” Greg said, trying to understand what was happening, in spite of the sudden urge to crumple across the back of a chair and pretend to hide a furious wank.

“I hope you don’t mind. I can leave if I’m disturbing you.”

“God no!” Greg said quickly, raising a hand. “No, don’t...” The kettle clicked off. “No. Um. I was just. Um. Tea?” How did you go about being a good host in the middle of the night to the unexpected man of your wet dreams? 

“No thank you,” Mycroft smiled, flipping his file closed. 

Greg didn’t move, unable to turn away, and licked his lips. “No, me neither.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft tipped his head.

“Hm? No, nothing. I’m just... Mycroft,” Greg trailed off weakly. 

Mycroft shook his head quizzically, bemused, but stayed silent, studying Greg’s face for an explanation.

“Ah, look, d’you mind if I sit down,” Greg said, moving quickly to the chair beside the sofa. If he sat on the sofa, he wouldn’t have such a good view, he’d be too tempted to touch, and he’d be utterly unable to hide anything.

“I’m sorry, Greg, clearly I’ve presumed too much,” Mycroft began, shifting forward, sliding the folder into a case beside his legs. 

“No!” Greg lunged forward, getting a hand on his wrist. “No. Don’t you dare.”

“Then I don’t understand,” Mycroft said quietly, meeting his eyes with just a touch of sadness.

Greg swallowed and sat back, pulling his hand away, and tucking his robe carefully around him. He couldn’t bear to think what he looked like: scruff on his face, his hair combed with a pillow, his face streaked with pillow creases and blotchy from sleep, nursing an erection that felt obvious even with his legs crossed and five inches of folded terrycloth on top of it. 

But it was all Mycroft’s fault. Even allowing for the fact that he’d only just got off a plane from some government mission on another continent, no one should be able to doze off while looking like this. Greg was getting used to the fact that Mycroft didn’t seem to own any suits that weren’t three-piece. This one was dark, charcoal-grey pinstripe, with sharply peaked lapels. His tie was a dark, rich blood-red, sleek and glinting in the light from the kitchen. There was a line of blue-grey just showing in his breast pocket. Greg took a deep breath, and swallowed, forcing his eyes back up to Mycroft’s face.

Mycroft’s eyes had softened, and Greg realized the man knew exactly what he was thinking now. He was briefly angry; even when he was wide awake, he suspected both of the Holmes brothers found him far too easy to read. But no, it was four in the morning and this gorgeous man had appeared in his living room. What would be the point of being angry at him?

“God you look good,” Greg said, deciding that stating the obvious might clear his brain for something more coherent.

Mycroft nodded slightly with a slow blink. “Thank you.” He returned his gaze to Greg’s, calm, even, controlled.

“Why are you here?” Greg sighed, laughing shakily. “I don’t want you to go, please don’t think that, but... I’m still half-convinced I’m dreaming.”

Mycroft blinked, and sighed, rousing himself a little. “I got back, I have to be at the office early, and yet...I wished to see you.” He said the last words carefully, as though he hadn’t considered the thought before he spoke.

“Thank you,” Greg said quickly and sincerely. “But you were asleep when I came out here. You must be done-in yourself. Why didn’t you just...?” He tipped his head toward his bedroom.

“I hadn’t intended to disturb you,” Mycroft said, smiling again, a little sadly. “I meant what I said - I wished to see you. Even if it meant silently.”

Greg shook his head, not sure he was understanding. “Y’mean... I mean, why not... You must have photos of me,” he finished lamely. “I mean, official ones, at least. Christ, I’ve been in the papers and on the news...”

“I wished to _see_ you,” Mycroft said. “And, yes, to be near you. And your flat has been one of the few places... I’m sorry, that sounds rather rude.” He stopped himself, frowning.

“Places you’ve...what, had sex?” He laughed at the idea.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, taking a breath and holding it a half-second before speaking. “Now that _would_ be rude. No. It’s just... this is one of the few places I’ve... well, slept.”

“You... hang on, no, hang on. You mean sleep as in... _sleep._ Unconsciousness.”

“You’ve never really had to deal with insomnia, have you?” Mycroft said, shifting slightly.

“No, not really. Really? I mean...really? How do you _function?”_

“Variably, but within reliable standards,” he said, tipping his head back against the sofa.

“Well, look, come to bed now, then,” he said, getting up and reaching for Mycroft’s hand. “You don’t need to sit out here.”

“Ah, Greg, honestly -”

“It’s fine,” Greg said firmly, pulling him to his feet. “It’s ridiculous for you to sit out here and doze over paperwork.”

“No, Greg, I mean...” He stopped pointedly, glancing down briefly. “I don’t mean to ruin your own rest.”

Greg followed his gaze, then dropped his hand sharply and pulled his robe tighter. “Oh, fuck it. Look, sorry, it doesn’t mean you have to, I mean, fuck’s sake.”

Mycroft lifted his chin, staring him down, then reached an arm around Greg’s waist and pulled him close. “I know I don’t have to. And neither do you.”

Greg swallowed again, and then realized that besides what Mycroft was feeling from him, he was feeling an answering nudge. “Hello,” he said weakly.

“Your choice,” Mycroft said quietly, holding his gaze.

Greg held his breath, then lunged forward, seizing Mycroft’s neck with both hands and burying his tongue in Mycroft’s mouth. He felt Mycroft’s other arm encircle his shoulders, and he tipped his head, letting Greg’s tongue lick across his teeth, his lips, the inside of his cheeks. Greg didn’t pull back until he was breathless, and even then couldn’t get his hands to relax from Mycroft’s face. _“God,_ I want you.”

“Then you shall have me,” Mycroft said quietly, resting his forehead against Greg’s. 

“But you should sleep,” Greg said.

“I may. Later.” Mycroft bent and kissed him gently. “But later.”

“What time do you need to be -?”

“I’ll handle it, Greg.”

“Mycroft, I’m trying so hard.”

“Don’t. It’s a choice. Simply choose, lover.”

“Are you really sure?”

Mycroft pulled back slightly, catching Greg’s eye, and lifted an eyebrow.

“Right. Bed.” Greg pulled his hands away, turned his back, and found one of Mycroft’s slender wrists, not caring how hard he yanked the man behind him.

“I promise I’m not going to leave,” Mycroft said, amused.

“I don’t think you understand,” Greg said, swinging him into the bedroom ahead of him, then shoving him backward onto the bed.

“I don’t think I do,” Mycroft said, still smiling, but far too poised.

Greg moved to stand in front of him. “I just woke up, in the middle of the night. The first thing I thought of, when I saw the time, was you, and that you weren’t here. And after that, there was no _way_ I was going to get back to sleep.” He moved to straddle Mycroft’s legs. “And then, when I gave up on sleep, you’re in my living room. Looking like this.”

Mycroft leaned back, putting one arm behind him. “Too disconcerting?”

“Too right,” Greg said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Best fucking start to a day that I have ever, ever had.” He bent slowly, sliding his arm under Mycroft’s jacket, kissing him softly. His hand slid around Mycroft’s waist, feeling the seam of his waistcoat, the fine wool ending and the smooth, glossy silk wrapping across his back. He traced his spine, working his fingers up, inching over to Mycroft’s  shoulderblade before he felt the lining of the jacket against the back of his hand, and groaned into Mycroft’s mouth.

Mycroft tipped his head away. “Something wrong?”

Greg caught his balance on Mycroft’s shoulder. “How can  you ask me that?”

“Are you all -”

_“Fine,”_ Greg said, shaking his head slowly. “I just want this... I want this. Mm.” He cupped the slender neck, taking another kiss. “I want you.”

“It’s mutual,” Mycroft said, reaching up to remove his jacket.

“No.” Greg set his hand on Mycroft’s, making him look up. “Let me. I want to...slowly.”

Mycroft nodded assent. “As you like.” He ran his hand up Greg’s arm, over the robe. “Yours to command.”

Greg couldn’t stay away from those lips. “Oh, you don’t even know.” _Soft, supple, and so very responsive._ Greg licked across Mycroft’s upper lip, the points of the Cupid’s bow, nestling his lip in the deep groove of his philtrum, using all his restraint to keep from chewing, and sucked his lower lip deep into his mouth before pulling back. “This morning. Work. Meetings?”

Mycroft shook his head. “Already mentally rescheduled. I’ll phone instead.”

“Video?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I’m sorry, but I may leave marks.”

Mycroft laughed softly. “I may, as well.”

“And I don’t bruise easily.”

“I’ll find out.”

Greg grinned, and took a step back, watching Mycroft’s face. There was a flicker of frustration, just a hint of it about his lips, a slight furrow of his brow before he raised his chin again, his hand falling back onto his lap as he waited to see what Greg would do next.

“My God, you’re used to being in control, aren’t you?” Greg said softly.

“I usually am, yes,” Mycroft said evenly. “By default.”

“Do you prefer that?” He knelt down in front of Mycroft, watching the eyebrows raise and shaking his head. “I mean, if you want...”

Mycroft’s eyes crinkled briefly. “There are now four subjects in play, so for clarity’s sake... Professionally, I do find things turn out best if I retain some oversight, at the very least. Personally, I’m more flexible, although I have in the past noticed a certain pattern I’m keen to avoid in the future. No real relationship is possible if things are too far out of balance. As  for more private desires, I am open to whatever may be offered. Or wanted.”

Greg nodded thoughtfully. “And the fourth?” He reached down and lifted one of Mycroft’s feet onto his knee.

“You have just answered it,” Mycroft said, watching Greg untie the laces of his shoe. 

“Fine, then you missed the fifth,” he said, glancing up before spreading his fingers around the heel and the toe of the shoe and pulling it off.

“Your intention was to remove my shoes, not fellatio.”

“Could be both,” Greg offered, picking up the other foot. 

“Go with your initial instincts tonight, Greg. You don’t have to try everything at once.”

“You’re refusing?”

Mycroft leaned forward, trailing his fingers through Greg’s hair, then bending forward and kissing the top of his head. “No. Acknowledging that it hadn’t been your intention. My misunderstanding should not make you thwart your original desire, hm?” He pressed his cheek to Greg’s head where he’d kissed him. “I feel tonight should be yours.”

Greg’s hands stilled around his ankle, unable to move, not wanting Mycroft to pull away, but also wanting to surge upward and chew and bite and rip and swallow and fuck them both ragged. But no - they’d done hot and heavy, frantic scrabblings at flies, gasping onto the other’s shoulder, biting and clawing and hard-and-fast orgasms, falling back into each other’s arms and laughing themselves breathless. Greg had already replaced his bedside lamp twice - the first time when one of their ejaculations had shot across the pillow, onto the lampshade. They had reconstructed the scene later, eyes streaming, a mockery of every crime scene either of them had been to, and deciding that it had been Mycroft’s cum that had dripped down the cloth shade and splatted onto the table. Greg had joked about keeping the lamp and having it bronzed, and Mycroft had tipped his head, frowned, batted the lamp to the floor and stepped on the shade, crushing it. Greg had blinked in surprise, looked up at Mycroft’s face. Mycroft raised his chin and one eyebrow as though challenging Greg to argue, and Greg had fallen apart again, laughing until his lungs hurt. The next lamp had had a glass shade, in case of any further excesses, and this one Greg had kicked over himself when Mycroft had pinned him across the pillows, making the point that yes, he really could fight dirty. 

Greg took a deep breath, focusing on his fingers, on the fine, soft knit of the sock. He undid the laces on the second shoe, sliding his fingers inside, loosening it. “Leather,” he said quietly, rubbing it between his fingers.

Mycroft leaned to watch what he was doing. “Well, yes.”

“Not new, though. How do you always keep from scuffing them?” He ran his fingertips over the toe, lifting it off Mycroft’s foot, turning it over, looking at the wear on the sole. 

“Good shoes are important,” Mycroft shrugged lightly. 

Now he had the long feet resting on his lap, and Greg stroked them, massaging the ankles. “Too much time on airplanes lately,” he commented, feeling the slight swelling.

“And cars. And meetings.”

“And you don’t have a lot of time in beds? Sleeping, I mean?”

“No, not much.”

“You should at least lie down,” Greg said seriously, sliding his fingers inside the top of the sock, sliding it down over the foot, stroking across the arch with the backs of his fingers. 

“Difficult to work in that position.”

“Mycroft. You don’t have to be working all the time, every hour of the day.” He looked up into the pale eyes, earnest. “You can’t live like that. It’s not good for you.”

“I know,” Mycroft sighed, running his fingers across his eyes and pulling back. “My mind, though. It keeps running, no matter how tired my body may be. I can’t always choose when I may relax, and it all depends on whether or not my brain allows it.”

“I doubt you’ll like the idea, but... there are sleeping pills.”

Mycroft paused and looked down at him carefully, flexing his toes into Greg’s thigh. “Yes, I know. I’ve tried them.”

“And?” He slid the other sock free, and rested his warm hands on the bare, cold feet.

“They... oh, let’s not do this now, hm? I appreciate your concern. I do. But this isn’t the happiest of subjects for me, and right now, I’d prefer to concentrate on you.”

Greg accepted the correction with a nod. “Oh, if you want a distraction,” he said, getting to his feet, “I think I can probably arrange that.” He leaned forward for another kiss, untying the belt of his robe and shrugging it off his shoulders before pulling back.

Mycroft’s eyes widened slightly, seeing Greg suddenly naked before him. “Ahh.” He laughed once, skimming the backs of his fingers across the hair on Greg’s belly. “Yes.” He rested his hands on Greg’s hips, and looked up at his face very deliberately. “And now?”

“Now I’m going to continue undressing you.”

“Ah ha.”

“Any objection?”

“Dear heavens, no.” He ran a hand down his tie, as if straightening it, then squared his shoulders and leaned back on his arms again. “I shall just have to contain myself.”

Greg leaned down, taking a deep breath and sliding his hands inside Mycroft’s jacket, slowly pushing the shoulders of it down his arms. “I feel like I’m defiling some kind of holy monument.”

“At least you didn’t call me a relic.” He shifted his weight forward again, swallowing as Greg guided his arms free, one at a time, watching carefully, trying not to rush ahead.

“Do you actually own any clothes that aren’t, I dunno, pieces of art?” Greg asked, lifting the jacket away, folding it over his arm, stroking his hand across the electric blue lining. “This is just... fucking gorgeous.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before.”

“You’re joking.”

“Actually, no, I’m not,” Mycroft said quietly, looking a little surprised himself. “Thank you.”

“Really?”

“Greg, I won’t lie to you. This isn’t a joke.”

“I just can’t believe it.” He held the jacket up in front of him, admiring it. “You’ve got such style. I mean, if I saw this on a hanger, I wouldn’t have any idea how good it would look. It all looks the same. Am I just biased, then?”

“I hardly know,” Mycroft answered. “I can tell you that it’s bespoke, though, so you wouldn’t see it.”

“Really?” Greg looked at him, and grinned. “Sorry. It’s just... So what was the occasion?”

“Greg...all of my suits are.”

Greg looked back at the jacket he was still holding up. “Bloody hell.”

“It may help if you think of it as a uniform.”

“No, that doesn’t help.” Greg folded it over his arm again, running his finger along the blue-grey line at the breast pocket. “May I...?”

“Of course,” Mycroft answered.

Greg slid a finger inside the pocket, and teased out the folded fabric. He turned and hung the jacket carefully across the back of a chair, and went to sit next to Mycroft on the bed, carefully unfolding the square of marbled blue-grey silk. “This is beautiful,” he said, spreading it out across his thigh. “It’s the kind of sky you get right before a thunderstorm.”

“I’m glad you like it.” 

Greg flinched, his back arching as he felt Mycroft’s cool fingers run slowly up the length of his spine. _“Haah!”_

“Do you think you’re likely to be doing more of this?” Mycroft asked gently, running one finger out to the edge of Greg’s shoulder. 

“No, no, stop that,” Greg said, standing up suddenly. “That’s cheating.”

“Is it?”

“Look at how much I’ve already learned,” Greg said, trying to appeal to his reason. “I mean, we already know the sex is great. But I want to know everything about you. Everything I can.”

“I’m sorry.” Mycroft bowed his head. “But might I make a request?”

“Yeah?”

Mycroft reached down to where Greg’s robe had puddled on the floor by their feet, and scooped it up. “Please. You are a man of infinite beauty, and I find it distressing how little I can restrain myself with you like that.”

Greg laughed, handing him the silk square and taking the robe. “You do make the rubbish you talk sound good.”

“My admiration for your personal qualities is not limited to your mind, Greg. Your body is...delicious.”

“Thank you very much,” Greg said quietly, belting his robe, looking down at the long-limbed man on his bed. The dark pinstriped front of his waistcoat made his long legs seem even longer, and accented the flare of his shoulders and the length of his arms. Greg reached around behind him, stroking the back of the waistcoat, now knowing it was the same deep, shocking electric blue as the lining of the suit. It seemed strange to have such a luscious display of colour all covered up under a suit jacket, but he’d already learned that Mycroft rarely worked in his shirtsleeves. 

He gave up trying to stand, and sat down again on the bed next to him. “Why do you always leave your jacket on, then?” he asked, running his fingers down the thin, crisp white cotton of his sleeve. 

“Why should I not?”

“You have a fantastic back. And this blue, with your eyes... honestly, you could have anyone.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that I _want_ them,” Mycroft said, leaning in for a soft kiss.

“Mm. Yeah. Maybe I have to get you an anorak.”

Mycroft laughed. “And then sedate me so you could staple me into it. You may have just found a way to get me to refuse your cooking.”

“No, I don’t want that. I want to be able to keep seducing you.”

“You don’t need to cook to do that, Greg.” He was leaning on one arm again, his legs crossed, his bare toes looking surprisingly relaxed and expressive, flexing with his words.

“So if you never take your jacket off, then clearly you never take this off either,” Greg went on, reaching for the buttons of the waistcoat. 

“No, obviously not. Here.” Mycroft slipped his fingers behind Greg’s, doing something Greg didn’t understand at first.

“Oh, your watch.” He watched as Mycroft unhooked his watch chain. “No, let me see how this goes.” The end of the chain had a T-bar that hooked through a buttonhole, while on the other end was Mycroft’s pocket watch, tucked into its own small pocket on the waistcoat. “I don’t think I’ve known anyone who wore one of these before, either. Is it antique?”

“Not that one, no,” Mycroft said, watching Greg turn it over several times without opening the lid. 

“I know I already asked you this, but... do you actually own anything that isn’t beautiful?”

“Probably. Possibly a fork or two. Maybe a bowl. Some of my keys are certainly lacking, aesthetically.”

“Because this... wait.” He hefted it thoughtfully. “It’s gold, isn’t it.”

“Thinking of stealing it?”

“Like I’d bother. Nah, if I’m ever strapped for cash, I figure I can play you and Sherlock off each other. One of you would certainly pay me to keep the other in a cell for a few days.”

“Even a few hours,” Mycroft agreed.

“Gift, then?”

“I suppose you could say that, yes. The story involves an ancient relative, my assistant, and a lorry full of eggs. And is not suitable for this time,” he added with a smile as Greg looked up in disbelief.

“Right. Look, I’m going to put this in your jacket pocket, if you don’t mind. I don’t dare take responsibility if you lose it here.”

“My word. You’re acting as if this is the first time I’ve undressed here.”

“It’s the first time I’ve undressed you,” Greg pointed out.

“Not true. Well, the first time you’ve done so much of it,” Mycroft conceded as Greg finished the last of the waistcoat buttons.

“Are you ticklish?” Greg asked, running his hands around Mycroft’s waist, pressing against the folds of his shirt.

“I can be made so,” Mycroft said, shifting uncomfortably.

“I’m not trying to,” Greg reassured him.

“I’d be grateful if you didn’t.”

Greg pushed one side of the waistcoat back, seeing that it, too, was lined. “Sweet Jesus, Mycroft.”

“Mm?”

“Ohh... look, I don’t know a bespoke suit until it comes with a diagram, obviously, but... when you got this suit, tell me you weren’t planning on using it to seduce someone. I defy you to say that it had any other purpose.”

“I didn’t intend to put anyone off,” Mycroft said. “But no, it wasn’t intended to get you into bed.”

“At least admit you put it on today thinking that I’d like it.”

“I find you’re often on my mind these days when I dress, but today I had no hope that I would be able to see you. I’m simply pleased that you like it, and I will certainly remember this in the future.”

Greg slid the waistcoat down his arms, then folded it and laid it on top of the jacket. “Oh, my.” He stood back to admire the view. Mycroft’s shirt was a little creased where the waistcoat had confined it, but the long white sleeves were still smooth, the French cuffs folded back neatly with a pair of jewels set in gold as cufflinks. “I assume these are something terrifyingly expensive as well?” he asked, lifting Mycroft’s arm.

“Depends on how easily you scare. Labradorite and iolite. Not the most expensive stones.”

“So, what, three hundred quid?”

“I’m not inclined to tell you, now.”

“Jesus. I’m not used to being someone’s bit of rough.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “You can stop that nonsense right now, thank you. I will never see you as less than a man of great spirit and intellect, and my equal in every possible way.”

“Except wrestling.”

Mycroft hesitated. “Except wrestling. You never did pin me.”

“And cooking.”

“Accepted. And height.”

“Agreed. I’m not wearing heels.”

“You are my equal in every way that matters, Greg. You do understand?”

“Yes. Now stop flinching.”

Another slight pause. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re tense. All the muscles in your abdomen are tied in knots.”

Mycroft took a deep breath through his nose. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Mycroft looked away. “I don’t know.” He ran a hand over his face. 

“What’s up?” Greg bent to kiss him, not waiting for a response. “Hey? I just, I mean, all this time and I just wanted to slow things down, be able to appreciate you a little more this time. Man of my dreams appears mysteriously in my living room in the middle of the night, I just thought I’d spend a little time unwrapping my gift, you know?” Mycroft nodded, and Greg could feel him tensing again. “No, now, seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Greg. I’ve told you I don’t sleep well. And that I have tried medication.”

“Well, I know you’re not an addict.”

“Hardly. But you are not seeing me at my best.”

“I don’t mind if you’re tired, you know, I’d be perfectly happy just holding you while you sleep, if that helps.”

Mycroft gave him a speculative look. “No, not tonight. But thank you, and yes, I would like to accept that offer in the future. Later today, even. Just.” He gathered up Greg’s hands, took a breath, and set them down between them. “I can take pills. But while I’m taking them, I do things. Nothing dangerous. Just sufficiently bizarre that I’m not comfortable using them.”

Greg’s lips worked as he sought words. “Bizarre. What, you...sleepwalk? Talk? Paint?”

“Eat.”

“...Right. Okay. How do you know this?” Greg shook his head.

“I’m not entirely asleep. Look, I just want you to understand. I’m not...You are not seeing me at my best, and I do dearly wish to be my best for you.”

“Have you ever felt like you disappointed me?” Greg asked after a moment.

“Not as such, no.”

“I’ve never known you... I mean, look.” He tried again, watching Mycroft’s eyes carefully. “I know you now. Clearly I don’t understand what you’re afraid about, but...well, that’s all of it, really. How can you be afraid of disappointing me at this stage? I thought I ought to slow down so that you knew I wanted to appreciate you, yeah?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to distract you with this.”

“Don’t feel like that,” Greg said, lifting Mycroft’s hands, wrapping them close. “I just find you so fucking gorgeous. You are just so attractive. There are times it gets hard to even breathe. And I really was joking about the ‘bit of rough’ thing,” he added with a weak laugh. “I mean, that’s one of the things I like best about you - I don’t have to hold back. I know you’re not going to find something too hard to follow, or do the cracks about my suspicious copper’s mind.”

“Do people actually say that?” Mycroft asked, disgusted.

“Let’s just say I have had it said to me. You kind of get resigned to some things. There’s probably a whole world of police fetishes that I do not wish to know about.”

“Ah. Yes.” 

“What?”

Mycroft smiled briefly. “I have heard things said about the nature of civil service, the proximity to power, and I learned very quickly never to ask for a martini while wearing a dinner jacket.”

Greg blinked at him for a moment, then worked it out. “No! You never...! Ah, God, I wish I’d seen that.”

“Not you too.”

“No, no, I was just thinking of the look you must have given him. Or was it a woman? Oh, please tell me it wasn’t a woman.”

“I hate to be a cliche, but yes.”

“Oh, _yes!_ ” Greg threw his head back with a bark of laughter. “Oh, excellent. And you told her that watering a decent martini by crushing the ice was a crime, didn’t you?”

“It was Hendrick’s.”

“Did she cry?”

“Not at that point, no.”

“You what?”

Mycroft tipped his head, raising his eyebrows. 

“You devil.”

“I’m saying nothing.”

“You don’t need to. I mean, you’re on my bed, man.”

“And I have been on it before. And for some time now.”

“Right now, I’m really seeing no reason for you to ever leave it.”

“Not entirely feasible.”

“Can I at least test the limits of my theory?”

Mycroft pulled his hands free and leaned back again. “Certainly.”

Greg set his hand on Mycroft’s chest, pressing lightly, closing his eyes as he felt Mycroft’s muscles tighten again in that instinctive flinch, then feeling his ribs expand with a deep breath, and relax again slowly. “Ooh, you feel so good.”

“You have such warm hands.”

Greg opened his eyes and looked at him. “You can feel that?”

“Hm, some. Memory as well.”

“Do you know what? I’m nervous, now.”

Mycroft laughed, a rich, delighted, throaty sound. “Oh, splendid. Take your time, lover. I’ll wait.” 

Greg took a few deep breaths, blowing them out before bringing his hands up to the top button of Mycroft’s shirt. “Do you know why I’m nervous?”

“Been over-thinking things?”

“Mmno. I’m just thinking this might be the slowest I ever undress you. I may never manage to do this again. And I could rip up a hell of a lot of expensive clothes to get at you.”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Gregory. Stay with the task in hand, hm?” He tilted his head up to allow Greg room to open the top button, then loosen his tie. 

“Fuck.” Greg pulled his hands back and shook them. “I’m shaking.”

Mycroft studied him a moment, then reached up, taking Greg’s face in his hands. Greg expected it to be a kiss, but Mycroft simply pressed their foreheads together, and lowered his eyes. “Greg. What you’re doing...I’m sorry if I sound flippant. I should be thanking you.”

“Thanking me?”

“Mm. There’s a reason we should be nervous. Neither of us wants anything to go wrong. I don’t want you to feel that this is a casual thing, for me.” He paused, and his hands shifted lower on Greg’s neck. “Having said that...” He looked up, smiling. “I can pin you and fuck you senseless. And I mean that in every possible way. So please, do keep that in mind while you’re undressing me. And wanting me. And keeping me waiting, on your bed. My control is good, but I am not known for endless patience, hm?”

“And if you ever speak to me like that again, I’ll have you arrested the next time you show up at a crime scene, not to mention the string of charges I can bring against your brother.”

“You do not want to continue this, Lestrade. I assure you, you will lose.”

Greg pulled back, smiling. “That’s enough dirty talk from you, thank you very much.”

“Glad I could help.” Mycroft blinked at him innocently. “I think you were on my shirt?”

Greg shrugged. “I was thinking maybe your tie, next. D’you mind?”

“As you please,” Mycroft said, waving his hand. “And before you ask, half-Windsor.”

“See, that I knew,” Greg said, undoing the knot carefully rather than just pulling it free and untangling it after. “And I even noticed that tonight you put the dimple in it.”

“Oh, good,” Mycroft said with a broad grin. “I don’t often wear the kind of tie that lends itself to that.”

“You know, after tonight...really, I do notice things you do. The first time I met you. Well, you stopped traffic in order to lure me,” he corrected, making a face at Mycroft, who simply grinned wider. “I think you had a grey suit on. Yeah, and a white shirt - you don’t seem to do white very often. Dark blue tie with, uh, little shields on, I think grey and gold and blue? And I think you had - in your pocket, I think it was dark red? Oh, and blue and grey socks.”

“Oh, yes?” 

“Pretty sure, yep. And I bet you can verify all of this with some CCTV footage, too.”

“You’re saying you can remember everything I was wearing, but you think that I could not?”

Now Greg grinned. “Oh, okay. Good point.” He slid Mycroft’s tie between his fingers. “Promise me this, though - you can’t go surprising me, using this against me. I swear I’ve never cared what anyone wore before, and you, well, you said this is like a uniform, to you. And that just makes me really, _really_ aware of every little detail, you know?”

“I think that’s the point.”

“Yeah, but... oh, you already know what’s going to look good on you. Just, don’t do anything like show up at the Yard just to frustrate me, all right?”

“I cannot promise you that.”

Greg looked down at him, grinned, and shook his head. “Well, all right, but I’m not going to be held solely responsible,” he said, turning and draping the blood-red tie across Mycroft’s other clothing on the chair.

“I suppose that’s a conversation we need to have,” Mycroft said as he turned back, running one hand up Greg’s thigh, over the robe to his waist. “How much is too much? I don’t think either of our careers make it wise to advertise our vulnerabilities.”

“You think someone’s going to try to kidnap you because you’re seen with me?”

“You do seem to be becoming a popular mouthpiece for the Met.”

“I’m not looking to move up the ladder,” Greg said, shaking his head.

“No, I mean the press conferences and so forth. I know how keen you are to have more people to manage - underlings and such.”

“Bastard.”

“I tell you, I had nothing to do with that promotion.”

“And I can’t prove a negative, or I swear you’d hang for it.”

“I can certainly see you don’t move up any further.”

“Could you?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Greg paused, his eyes drifting as he thought. “I dunno. No, don’t tell me. No, it’s too late. I already know.”

“You see, that’s precisely the reason I like you.”

“Because you can control my career?”

“Because you can figure things out. Sherlock never likes to admit that about you, does he?”

Greg smiled. “Well. Let’s just say that if he were the only Holmes I knew, I think I would have retrained as a plumber.”

“You don’t actually believe him, do you?” Mycroft set both of his hands on Greg’s waist, holding him steady.

“Nah. No, not really. But I only ever call him in when we’re absolutely nowhere. So morale’s already pretty low, then he swans in, pokes a few things, says something daft like ‘you’re looking for a man with a blue wristband, three pounds of caramel, and a mustache, born on a Tuesday in Lent,’ insults Anderson a bit, and makes us all feel like the dumbest rocks on the beach. I mean, I know he’s brilliant, but that’s all he ever is.”

“Don’t expect me to defend him, Gregory,” Mycroft said plaintively. “I’m sorry I ever encouraged the acquaintance.”

“Nah, don’t be,” Greg told him, touching his chin, then running his hands up Mycroft’s shoulders and under his collar. “I will freely admit that I did use him to get to his brother.”

“And took your time about it.”

“I worked with what I was given!” Greg laughed in disbelief. “And as I recall, you were the one who knew everything - where I worked, where I’d be, how to get me on a certain street at the right time of day, how to get me away from my back-up...”

“All you had to do was ask Sherlock what my name was, and I’m sure you could have -”

“Now you know that’s a lie! If I’d asked Sherlock anything about you, what would he have said? Eh? Yeah, see?”

“He would have told you my _name...”_

“Yeah, and figured out why I wanted to know it, and then where would we be?”

“We’ve been over this.”

“Yep.”

Mycroft sighed. “All right, truce.”

“Right.” Greg nudged Mycroft’s knees apart so he could move closer. “Do you know, the second time I saw you, at that car park in Knightsbridge, I spent the whole time trying not to stare at your neck.”

“One of the great tricks of the three-piece suit.”

“No, no,” Greg said, shaking his head. “Don’t give me that. I’m looking at it right now.”

“Unbruised as yet, you will note.”

Very slowly, Greg bent down and put his face next to Mycroft’s neck, undoing another button of his shirt and nudging his collar aside, folding it back. “Yes, I see that.” He moved closer, his nose just brushing the back of Mycroft’s ear. He heard Mycroft gasp, then breathe out unevenly, his fists clenching on the robe. “And you smell so good.” He ran the tip of his nose down the length of Mycroft’s neck, feeling him tipping his head away, stretching as if to prolong the contact. “Mmm.” He began to lip his way around the base of his neck, parting his lips, setting them against the soft skin, and tensing them just enough to pull the skin, not quite nipping, not quite kissing. When he got to the base of Mycroft’s throat, he ran the tip of his tongue around the hollow there between his clavicles, then licked across the center. 

“Now,” Greg said softly, “do you mind if I lose this bathrobe?”

Mycroft made a tense sound in the back of his throat, his teeth clenched. “Ah, _God,_ that isn’t fair.”

“I can leave it on, only, well...”

“Yes, fine, of course, do as you like,” Mycroft said quickly. “Just know that at some point, I will repay you.”

“Ohh, good. Good.” Greg let the robe fall back off his shoulders again as he bent, taking hold of a few of Mycroft’s chest hairs with his lips, giving them a gentle pull that made Mycroft hiss and gasp, then running his nose up along his throat. “We’ll enjoy that.”

Mycroft swallowed, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple nudging Greg’s nose. Greg pulled back and looked at his face, and was treated to the sight of Mycroft Holmes chewing on his lower lip. He grinned, but decided he’d better not press his luck further, and reached down to his waist and the button of his fly.

Mycroft’s eyes popped open, and he looked up at Greg, startled. “Thank Christ.” He hesitated, then grabbed Greg’s neck and dragged him close, kissing him, smearing his lips across Greg’s face, licking at him, his hands clenched around Greg’s face.

“Hey, hey hey!” Greg said suddenly, his fingers fumbling. “Hang on. Wait.” He shook his head free, and looked down. “What the almighty fuck do you call this?” He leaned down, pointing at Mycroft’s crotch accusingly. “Fucking buttons!”

“I am trying to be reasonable, Greg, but so help me -”

“That’s just _cruel,_ ” Greg protested, tugging on the buttons, trying to ignore Mycroft’s surging erection, not to mention his own.

Mycroft suddenly slapped his hands away and faster than Greg believed possible, all of the buttons were undone. 

“I’m going to allow that,” Greg said, trying not to laugh. “Look, just get your kit off.” He shifted onto the bed by Mycroft’s side.

At that point, Greg had expected Mycroft to lie back and push off his trousers and roll onto him, but instead, Mycroft shot to his feet and rounded on him with a growl. “Do _not_ move.”  He slid his trousers and trunks down to his knees, where they fell. And _then_ Mycroft landed on him, knocking him back and kissing him so hard and deeply that Greg’s throat rebelled and tightened, making him grunt and fight to catch his breath. Mycroft didn’t pull back, but twisted to the side, dragging Greg on top of him. Then, finally, Greg had the leverage to break free, gasping for air. “Shit!” 

“I’d have been at you an hour ago, Greg,” Mycroft said, panting a bit himself. “You can’t expect me not to lunge.”

Greg straddled him, and carefully tucked his cock into place between Mycroft’s thighs, almost coming right then with the relief of it. He opened his eyes and looked down at Mycroft, his white shirt still half-buttoned, but he’d pulled off his cufflinks while Greg was catching his breath. “No, don’t,” Greg said,  running his hand down Mycroft’s chest and onto the rumpled cotton. “I love your impatience.”

Mycroft growled again, tipping both the cufflinks into his right palm, then hurling them blindly across the room and grabbing Greg’s arms again. “You should have said.” He hauled Greg back down, grabbed at his shoulder with his mouth, sucking hard, biting, his fingers clutching at Greg’s arse and shoulders. 

Greg actually cried out, sure that Mycroft’s teeth had broken his skin, but then immediately laughed, and closed his own lips in a circle at the base of Mycroft’s neck, intending to give as good as he got. Mycroft spasmed, and Greg felt the warm rush of his semen on the back of his thighs. He stilled, closing his eyes, concentrating on the muscles of his legs, the feel of Mycroft’s pulsing surge, the sound of his gasping breath in Greg’s ear.  He was right on the edge himself, and pulled back just enough to look at Mycroft’s face. His eyes were closed, but there was such a mix of longing and lust and satisfaction on his face, the front of his shirt sliding open, showing the gingery hair of his chest against pale skin almost as white as his shirt. Greg ran a finger down his chest, along the edge of the shirt, tracing the folds, watching Mycroft’s skin tighten and the hairs rise with goosebumps. He slipped his fingers under the cotton, feeling it soft and light against the back of his hand, Mycroft’s body warm against his palm, raised his hand up to the collar, folding it back once more, and kissing the man’s neck. The skin was so tender, so delicate, usually hidden behind the stiff, sleek protection of the collar that was now pressed against Greg’s nose, brushing his cheek.

All at once, his own climax is ready, and he wants to prolong it somehow, but he can’t. He falls flat across Mycroft’s chest, panting, feeling the edge of Mycroft’s collar against his own neck, and somehow that adds to it, another surging spurt before he’s sagging, wrecked, limp, and twitching on top of Mycroft Holmes.

They are silent for a few minutes before Greg stirs, opens his eyes and lifts his head. Mycroft’s eyes are closed, a quiet smile on his lips, his fingers shifting lightly against Greg’s back. “You awake?”

Mycroft’s eyes open, immediately focused, clearly wide awake. 

“Shower?” he offered, carefully disengaging them, feeling the cool, sticky, drying patches on his thighs, pulling at the hairs of his legs as he slid onto his feet without rolling over. 

“I think not just yet, if you don’t mind. But you - go ahead. I must make a call, which you shouldn’t hear.”

“Fair enough,” Greg answered, holding out his hand. “Up for a minute and I’ll toss this lot in the washer.”

“I can take care of that,” Mycroft said, accepting the help up off the bed. “You start it now, you won’t have water pressure for your shower.”

“Soap’s under the sink,” Greg called back over his shoulder, stepping into the shower. He didn’t hear an answer, or any further sound from the bedroom, so he turned on the water and began to wash himself off.

When he came back to the bedroom later, he stopped dead. The plain white sheets had been stripped from his bed, and now Mycroft was sitting on a field of bright, electric blue that Greg had never seen before, with a matching duvet folded back under his legs. He’d unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way but it still hung from his shoulders, his cuffs turned back, his eyes on the screen of his phone. There was a damp cloth on top of Greg’s laundry hamper.

Greg took the towel from around his waist and scrubbed it up over his hair. “Same colour as the lining of your suit.”

“Yes, I hope you don’t mind,” Mycroft said absently, not lifting his eyes from what he was doing. “We do seem to have a habit of spontaneity, and I thought another set might make things a little easier.” He looked up at Greg, his eyes bright. “Do you approve?”

“You said you didn’t wear that suit with me in mind,” Greg said calmly.

“I didn’t.”

“But you came prepared with a set of sheets the same colour.”

“Vanity.”

“Smug devil. Picking sheets that look good on you?”

“Was there another consideration?”

“The room? What I might like?”

Mycroft looked around at the pale, bland, beige walls. “And you dislike them?” he added.

“You filthy cheating swine.”

“My pleasure.”

Greg crossed to the bed and threw himself down on it, hitching himself next to Mycroft and pointedly craning to see his screen, which went dark just as he caught a glimpse. “Cheating. If you’re doing it on my bed, I get to see.”

“That’s a house rule?” Mycroft set the phone down on the bedside table, and reached to haul Greg across his lap.

“I always forget how strong you are.”

“It’s an advantage I keep from force of habit.”

“And what does that mean?”

“I downplay my strength. Not all of my career has taken place behind a desk.”

Greg thought about that, and decided there were some things he wasn’t ready to hear yet.

Mycroft looked at him, as if waiting for his decision, and when Greg didn’t say anything, he nodded slightly. “Now, would you mind very much if I laid down for a bit?”

Greg leaned forward and kissed him. “I think I would enjoy that very much.”

“I may even sleep.”

“I was hoping that’s what you meant - you do look tired.”

“Relaxed, certainly.” Mycroft smiled. “I find you amazingly comforting, Gregory Lestrade.”

“Not sure I’ve ever been called ‘comforting’ before. I like it.”

Mycroft smiled, reaching across to turn out the lamp. The room was hardly dark anymore; the sun was up, the room was grey with half-hearted London light seeping past his blinds. “You want it darker?” Greg asked,  pushing himself up to let Mycroft settle more comfortably.

“No. Come back here.” He pulled Greg back down, cradling his head and shoulders on his chest. “Stay with me?”

“I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

Mycroft snorted softly, stroking at Greg’s damp hair, kissing his head idly, his chin sunk onto his chest between the collar of his shirt. “I’ll have to leave this afternoon.”

“Better than this morning.”

“Mm. But dinner this evening?”

“When and where?”

“Oh, I don’t care. Your choice. Afterwards... you see, you’ve been cleared.”

“Cleared?” Greg looked up at him. “For what?”

“If you’d like, that is. I’ve a flat in Bayswater. I’d quite like to find out exactly how much you can relax me.”

Greg hesitated. “You mean, you can take me back to your place? I’ve been...cleared?”

Mycroft nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Greg grinned at him. “Of course not. But you know, this is starting to feel dangerously close to commitment. Security clearance for your flat, I mean...”

Mycroft stroked long fingers across Greg’s lips, hushing him. “This has been a commitment since I first looked into your eyes, Greg. There will be no one else.”


End file.
